Danger Follows You
by ManicVergingonPsychotic
Summary: A bored Sherlock decides to go with John to the supermarket. Before they know it they've landed themselves in a secretive hostage situation and Mycroft refuses to help!
1. The Only Excpetion

**Warning: scenes of violence**

It was just a normal day, life in 221B Baker Street was continuing as it normally did; John playing the part of the domestic goddess when Mrs Hudson wasn't there and Sherlock playing the part of the moody detective who hasn't got a case and is overly bored. Mrs Hudson was downstairs in the restaurant and it was John's day off, so it was up to him to try and tackle cleaning the sink.

"John!" Sherlock called from the sitting room.

"Yes?" John replied, not moving from his spot in the kitchen, dutifully scrubbing.

"I'm _bored_." Sherlock moaning, clapping his hands over his face.

"Well _there's _a surprise." John muttered to the sink. "Any cases?" this was directed at the arachnid figure lounging on the sofa.

"They're all tediously easy and _boring_." Sherlock replied "Anyone with half a brain could sort them out, mind you Lestrade seems to be the only one there with half a brain. I can't say as much for Anderson and Donovan." John chuckled to the sink and Sherlock peeked his face over the top of the sofa, at first he looked suspicious but then his face warmed into a mirroring smile and he relaxed back onto the couch.

"Well, Sherlock I'm just about done here." John said, discarding his marigolds onto the countertop with a satisfying smack. "Unless I could clean your experiments up…"  
>Sherlock whirled off the sofa, fixing John with a glare. He pointed towards the kitchen table.<p>

"Don't touch my experiments, that stuff is delicate." John inched towards the test tubes his hands outstretched pretending he was going to touch them. Just to wind Sherlock up. Sherlock shifted, looking angry, he didn't know whether John would dare or not. John laughed, and Sherlock pulled one of his common confused faces.

"Well, I have to do the shopping."

"Shopping?"

"Yes. Shopping. So that we can you know, eat. Well not 'we' more 'me' seeing as you live off black coffee and oxygen." John trailed off seeing the extremely dangerous happy look spreading across Sherlock's face. "What? What? Why are you smiling like that? Sherlock, that's kind of-"

"Brilliant!" Sherlock smiled

"What? What's brilliant?"

"Shopping! I'll come shopping with you." A mix of horror and trepidation spread across John Watson's face.

"Great. Just great."

After a brief tube journey in which Sherlock pointed out who on the tube was having an affair, who would probably die alone and who were hiding secrets, (causing John to nearly get slapped several times by women whose infidelity had been pointed out in front of their partners and several men to shout "Your boyfriend is telling lies about my Mrs!" at him) Sherlock and John arrived at the supermarket. John was already feeling tired but Sherlock seemed to be overly happy for some reason John was unable to identify.

"Shopping John! Shopping!" He squealed.

"Yes Sherlock, shopping, the very thing you have refused to do every time I have asked you to help." 

"Ah, but today is different. Today is a new day!"

"Yes, but could you calm down, people are staring at your dancing."

Sherlock couldn't tell _why_ he had wanted to come shopping. He hated the supermarket, and he didn't even eat often so didn't enjoy picking out culinary delights. He didn't like the sticky floors, the piped music, the garish displays, so, he mused, why was he so interested in coming today. He gazed down at his companion out of the corner of his eyes. John was…nice. He…liked John. The words took a while to form together in his head due to under use. He didn't think he'd had a friend like John ever. He'd wanted to be friends with Mycroft when he was little, but he rejected him maybe because of the age gap but also maybe because they were so different. Even then. Sherlock would've never had imagined that he would've made a friend in John, no, when he met John he was just a means to afford a nicer flat in London. He even expected that John would move out after the shots at the wall, violin playing and mysterious chemicals and body parts in the microwave. But John had stayed, and Sherlock realised that he liked it like that. John was obviously the reason this excursion seemed be bearable, no, not bearable…_fun_. Now there was a word that Sherlock hadn't used in a while. _Fun_. Sherlock had _fun_ with John.

"What's wrong Sherlock?" John asked, seeing that Sherlock was staring down on him with a look of determination and concentration.

"Absolutely nothing." Sherlock's face split into a smile. He was taken aback by how often he had been smiling today. He was so overcome with happiness. Was this what being a _normal_ person was like? Sherlock discovered that he didn't really mind it that

much. And he would continue not-minding until it dimmed his mental abilities.

John and Sherlock walked over to the trolley bay. John picked the trolley closest to him and was in the process of taking it into the supermarket when Sherlock halted him.

"_Not _that one."

"Why not?" John replied. He was confused, had Sherlock suddenly decided against this whole shopping shenanigan?

"The wheel John, it's completely faulty. Look at it." Sherlock bent down and twisted the wheel with his fingers, showing that it was badly stuck.

"Ok." John said. It seemed to him that Sherlock could be useful. Without him he would've spent twice as long in the supermarket trying to manipulate a wonky trolley. "What about this one?" He gestured to another close by one.

"If you don't mind the fact that the last user sneezed on the handle, and as you are a doctor you're probably aware that this is flu season."

"Sherlock."

"This one, however…" Sherlock inspected the trolley, looking at the wheels, handle and hook for hanging the bags off. "This one will suffice." John wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. He was so amused by Sherlock trying to make John happy by picking the best trolley, but also he could sense that this would be a very very long shopping trip.

Sherlock and John filed into the large supermarket entrance the hot conditioned air warming the back of John's neck. An experience he always enjoyed.

He was confused, mostly over why Sherlock had decided that today was the day he wanted to behave like a normal person and buy food but also over his mood. He'd caught him looking at him quizzically throughout the day and wanted to know why. Of course, asking Sherlock outright would never give him the information he wished to know, but he could always attempt it slyly throughout the day.

Sherlock decides he wants to take control of the trolley and whizzes away before John can catch him. John finds him racing up and down the isle, gaining momentum trying to see how fast he can get the trolley to go.

"Sherlock. SHERLOCK!" Sherlock had attracted the attention of an employee. Who marched towards John angrily. Sherlock looked bewildered, John sighed, he probably didn't even think he was doing anything wrong.

"Excuse me, but just what do you think you're up to?" The large employee demanded of Sherlock.

"I know that you're distressed about your young son being too feminine for your liking-"

"_Sherlock_." John hissed. The man had no idea how much trouble his deductions landed them in.

"But, good sir, don't take it out on my experiment."

"Experiment?" The employee swelled up "And what's this about my son are you some kind of-"

"Excuse my friend." John stepped in "He's a little _different_ if you know what I mean." John whispered to the employee. "He's well… how would you put it Sherlock?"

"A high-functioning sociopath."

"Yes, that's it, I'm sorry he doesn't understand how he's been rude to you." The employee looked cheered by the explanation and decided to leave it at that.

"Well, thank you for the apology."

"No, no, it's ok. He comes with a guidebook." John chuckled. The employee huffed his way back to his station. John turned back on Sherlock, glaring.

"What?" Sherlock said, innocently. He really doesn't get it, John thought. Even though that meant it wasn't Sherlock's fault and John couldn't be blame him for annoying people, didn't mean John wasn't still angry.

"You can't just tell people their insecurities, especially if it's about their children."

"Why not?"

"Because!"

"Because…?" Sherlock asked, he was genuinely interested. He didn't see telling people their faults and weaknesses as a faux pas.

"Because it makes you look like a stalker. And image which isn't helped by the…" John gestured to Sherlock "The pale and interesting, cheekbones and black coat look."

Sherlock turned up the collar of his coat, looking slightly miffed at John. "How did you figure it out anyway?" John asked, puzzled.

"Figure what out?"

"The whole, feminine son thing."

"Did you not get that immediately?" At first John is angry because he thinks Sherlock is making fun of him. Then he really assesses his face and realises he's being sincere. Wow, John thinks, he really doesn't get what it's like to be normal and not, well, super intelligent.

"No." John sighs "I didn't Sherlock." Sherlock pauses before telling him. He wonders what it must be like for them. The "normal" people. A stray phrase floats through his brain: "Ignorance is bliss". It must be nice, he muses, not to know a person's life history before they've even said hello.

"He had a smidgen of pink nail polish on his finger, but he was wearing a badge for a rock band and had a very masculine haircut. That paired with the fact we obviously know he doesn't have a daughter."

"Obviously?" John echoed.

"Yes," Sherlock looked at John. "No? Really?" John rolled his eyes. "Ok, ok, well we know he doesn't have a daughter because he looked agitated which means he's worried about one of his kids. We also know because he had a receipt in his hand for an action man…a boy's toy. If he had a daughter he would've bought something for her as well. Not fair to buy a present for only one child."

John was amazed, not only by Sherlock's detective skills but how he was amazed at them every time. He was amazed at his own amazement. Sherlock's deductions never grew boring, or predictable, it was impossible to try and replica or copy his methods.

Whilst John was standing there in amazement, Sherlock was also standing in amazement. Most people grew bored of Sherlock all too quickly. Finding him annoying and repetitive. The general message Sherlock got was, yes, well you can tell people's life history but just keep it to yourself, it's getting annoying now. John never seems to find life with Sherlock boring, Sherlock decides. Sherlock also decides he likes the idea of this and hopes John and his friendship continues for as long as possible.

John commands the trolley from now own so that Sherlock doesn't continue his "experiments". They wheel is around for a while, John buying bread, milk, eggs, jam, chicken, salad, cheese and assorted vegetables and fruit whilst Sherlock mutters to all of them, picking them up and deducing which ones are best quality and which ones are past their best. John enjoys this, he finds Sherlock's attempts at normal human activities endearing and the fact that Sherlock is trying to help John with the domesticities. The wheels squeak along the sticky floor, announcements are called out on the intercom: "_Did you know, today you can get three packets of biscuits for the price of one? Three packets! That's a whopping saving of £4:50…_" This is all too normal for Sherlock the stalker of back alleys and investigators of the darkest parts of London but he finds it increasingly interesting to see how the normal people live. He ponders this as he examines which tomatoes John should buy when there is a loud crashing noise. John jumps then laughs.

"Someone must have knocked a display over, eh Sherlock?"

"No." Sherlock says, "That noise was not a display being knocked over. It was-"

Gunshot echoes throughout the supermarket. So do the screams of the terrified shoppers on hearing the murderous noise. But Sherlock doesn't care about them. "John, someone's taken over the intercom." 

John looks at Sherlock with wide eyes. "You mean-"

"Yes." Sherlock nods "Someone is trying to take over the supermarket."

More gunshot echoes throughout the shop and instinctively John flattens himself to the floor, even though the noise is just coming through the intercom.

"John John! Are you alright?" Sherlock cries, bending down over John, because he can tell he's not. He can tell that images of Afghanistan are whizzing through John's brain too fast for him to keep up.

John straightens up just as the first message from the attackers comes floating across the aisles.

"Hellooooooooo, everybody! Having a nice shop are we? Aww, that's nice, do love a little morning shop, buying all the shopping for the week. Well I'm _awfully_ sorry to say that you're not gonna finish you're shopping time soon. Aww I know, I know, major inconvenience. Sorry! But you guys are all hostages now. Please all line up along the vegetable aisle. And please know, we have cameras and can see if you try to run or hide. My _lovely _men will come to escort and count you at the vegetable aisle. Thank you for listening. Byyyyye!" The intercom turned off with a cheery noise.

"Sherlock. Sherlock." John panted "What do we do?"

"Follow their instructions John. He doesn't seem to be lying. I think right now we should just do as they say until we can find an opportunity." Sherlock turned around and saw that John was shaking ever so slightly. Sherlock smiled at him, placing his hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry John. I won't let you get hurt. Not today at least." John smiled back. They walked over to the vegetable aisle they weren't too far away from it anyway. They joined the group of hustled figures cowering on the floor.

They were sitting in a line, their backs pressed into the display of vegetables, their knees under their chins. Most were crying, some looked defensive. There was eight of them. Obviously shopping early on a Sunday morning was rare. Sherlock took his turn looking at each of them as he sat next to John. He started on the far left, there was a set of twins, around sixteen with dark hair, they were clasping hands, but not looking at each other. Along from them was a young woman with a short spiky black hair and a neck scarf. She looked as if she was trying to act bored but her fear was obviously showing through. Next to her was a defensive looking man with green eyes and brown hair who was next to a blonde woman and her equally blonde boyfriend. Her boyfriend was sitting next to a frail old woman wearing a pink cardigan and sensible shoes.

"So what have we got hear Sherlock?" John whispered.

"A set of identical twins, a serial adulteress and hairdresser, a banker, a couple on the verge of splitting up because she cheated on him, she's unemployed and he's a lawyer, and a retired primary school teacher." Sherlock whispered back. As he finished his reasoning a tall man dressed all in black wearing a black mask came up along the hostages.

He had a black mask on and was immensely muscled.

"Right." He said, pointing to all the hostages with his gun. He had a voice distortion on. "Stay here, and don't move. I'll be right here." He gestured to a spot nearby.

One of the twins whimpered and buried her head into the other one's neck. 

"Stop that." The man in black said. Gesturing at her with his gun. That made her whimper more. "I said STOP IT!" He shouted at her.

"Do you have a soul? She's terrified!" The non-whimpering twin shouted back at him.

"Excuse me?" replied the man in black "I don't like your tone."

"Yeah? Well I don't give a damn. Just leave her," she gestured to her shuddering twin, "Alone."

The man in black mused this over for a moment. "Ok." he said "I will." he then turned and shot the protesting twin. She died before anyone could react. Then the whimpering twin started to scream.

"JENNIFER! JENNIFER!" she tried to shake her sister. "JENNIFER!"

"Please." John said to the man in black. His hands held in a surrendering pose. "I'm a doctor, please let me look after the other sister."

The man in black nodded, then picked up the win and shoved her into John. John put her in front of him and started soothing her by asking her questions like her name and where she was from.

"Why?" Sherlock asked all of a sudden. "Why are you doing this?" He looked up at the man feeling no fear, fear was a feeling he seldom had, and never for himself. Only for other people that he actually cared about, like…John.

The tall man whipped around. If he wasn't wearing a mask Sherlock would've seen his eyes, but even with the mask on Sherlock could tell he was squinting at him trying to size him up.

"Why does anyone do anything?" The man asked Sherlock

"I wouldn't know. I'm not anyone." Sherlock looked away. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see John talking to the twin, Catriona. He had her wrapped in his arms and she was still shuddering for the shock, but John had taken his coat off to try and warm her up. Sherlock knew he could work this out and didn't care is he lost his own life. He was petrified of losing John's though. Losing John's wouldn't be acceptable.

"For the money. For the funzies."

"Funzies?"

"Yes, crime is fun. Is that hard to accept?"

"No." Sherlock says. "but the word 'funzies' is." Sherlock mutters. Luckily the man doesn't hear him, Sherlock guesses his isn't the type to enjoy having his vocabulary mocked.

Sherlock's phone hummed in his pocket. He answered it slyly without drawing attention to himself. He was alright though, the guard had turned his attention to the girl with spiky hair.

"Hello there pretty lady." He was cooing. Sherlock shuddered.

He looked at his inbox. It was from Mycroft.

_I see you've got yourself into a spot of bother – MH_

Sherlock quickly typed a reply.

_Well observed. Get John out – SH_

He sighed, leaning back against the crate of aubergines. Mycroft was taking his sweet time replying.

_John? What about the rest of them? – MH_

Sherlock was confused.

_Rest of who? – SH_

_The hostages Sherlock. There's seven of them. The old lady? Spiky haired girl? Remaining twin? The couple and the sad looking man? How could you forget them?_

_MH_

Sherlock didn't even dignify that text with an answer. Partly because he was aggravated by Mycroft's mocking tone but also because he himself didn't know why. When he was with John everything in the background blurred sometimes, until it seemed unimportant. John was his main focus at the moment. A steady beating of _get John out _was pulsing through his head.

_I get it. You've gone sweet on him haven't you? – MH_

_Mycroft, this isn't the time to be making jokes about my…'feelings'. Can you help us or not? – SH_

The reply came back a split-second later.

_No – MH_

Sherlock hurriedly began tapping out a reply

_No? What do you mean_

"What's this then?" The guard snapped, snatching Sherlock's phone away from him.

"Sherlock." John hissed under his breath, he knew that Sherlock had put the whole group at risk.

"Sorry." Sherlock smiled. "Just fancied a game of X's and O's."

The guard stared in amazement at Sherlock's phone, a game of noughts and crosses open on the screen. Child's play, Sherlock had installed fingerprint recognition on his phone that sensed that if he or John wasn't using it and immediately flared up a game of noughts and crosses.

The guard snarled and flung Sherlock's phone away in frustration.

Sherlock was still puzzled. Why was it that Mycroft wouldn't help him work out this situation. It was like something had popped in his head, a chemical reaction that allowed him to come to the solution. If Mycroft wouldn't help it had to be something to do with the British government.

Why would the British government be interested in some middle aged people, teenage twins and an old lady?

Then again, it seemed all too convenient. If this wasn't organised by parliament why were there no young children or babies? There's usually always a few of those kicking around in a supermarket no matter what time of day or day of the week.

He huffed in exasperation pressing his back into the crate behind him. It wasn't his favourite sofa but it would have to do at the moment. He fondly looked over at John. _John_. How had he and Sherlock carelessly managed to wander into the middle of a dangerous hostage situation?

Danger clung to Sherlock, followed him, constantly meandered down the streets he walked, nipping at his heels. He'd told John that when he met. He should've enforced it made sure that John didn't follow him. He mentally cursed himself. He'd gotten away with the concept of someone liking him, of having a _friend_. His mind usually rebelled against the word, not with John though. With John things were different.

Meanwhile, John is mentally panicking. Not about Sherlock or how to resolve the situation. He's panicking about Catriona. She's gone into shock after loosing her twin sister and her whole body is buzzing, unable to cope or rationalise the loss it has sustained. John hates this. It reminds him way too much of Afghanistan, holding someone else in his arms and being lost as to what to do to help save it. He looks away from the quivering girl and up at the man beside him.

_Sherlock_.

Sherlock is already looking at him. John can see a sad expression on his face but isn't sure what it is. Worry? No. Sadness? Anger? He realises. It's regret. Regret tinged with guilt. John doesn't understand why he feels like that. Does he blame himself for not saving the first twin?

John doesn't understand that Sherlock blames himself for landing John in this mess.

John reaches out his free hand towards Sherlock, closing the far too wide gap between them. He doesn't expect Sherlock's reaction. He never would have.

Sherlock grasps John's hand tight. Holding it like a eight-year-old who suddenly grips onto their mother when reaching a road crossing unashamedly. John thinks about making a joke about "people talking" but then realises it's the worse thing he could do. He doesn't want to let go of Sherlock's hand, the feeling of it against his own is nice.

One of the tomatoes falls out of it's crate behind Sherlock, giving them both a fright so they break the handholding. John marvels on how easy he finds it to get wrapped up in a Sherlock-John bubble no matter what situation they are in.

Sherlock's mind quickly returns to the puzzle. Why would the British government be interested in this seemingly random group of people?

Until the answer slaps him. _Of course!_ _How could he be so stupid_.

Now that Sherlock has the answer, he intends to act and, he glances sideways at John who's refocused his attention on the hostage girl, before its too late.

**So I will reveal the answer in chapter two! As always, thank you for reading. **


	2. As You Wish

**Big thanks for everyone who followed this story… you guys are amazing.  
>_<strong>

Sherlock panted, relief washing through him at figuring it out. _Of course_ he didn't realise how he could've been so stupid. It was obvious, staring him in the face.

Mycroft wouldn't help him because he worked for the British government. Therefore it must be something to do with the British government. _Seeing as Mycroft doesn't have much of a personal life_ Sherlock's brain added with a smirk. These people didn't seem linked at all; they seemed like a random crowd. That was it. That was the point. _A random crowd_. Why would the British government go after a random selection of people with varying gender, age, nationality, social background and employment? Well once you pieced all the parts together it was obvious.

Well obvious to Sherlock at least.

They had all witnessed something. Something bad. Something that the British government would rather forget, get rid of or sweep under the carpet. However you put it, but this 'sweeping' seemed to be rather messy and involve killing eight people.

Sherlock peered slightly passed John to try and guess where the guard was. He was crouched down beside the girl with spiky hair, pinching her cheeks together with his thumb and forefinger. Sherlock eased himself forward, the hostages staring in disbelief.

"_Sherlock_." John hissed at him under his breath giving him a warning look. Sherlock held his finger to his lips, giving John a 'trust me' look with his eyes. One that John replied with a 'why should I start now you idiot' look.

Sherlock agonisingly inched himself forward towards his phone, sweat beading on his brow. He didn't care if the man shot him dead right now, he just cared if he'd hurt or even _touch _John.

Sherlock needn't have worried. For someone meant to be holding a shop hostage, this man had totally skewed priorities. Priority number one, for example, was not terrifying the people in front of him into keeping quiet and staying where they were, it was the pretty young lady in front of him. 

"Get the hell. Of me." She hissed between his pinching fingers. He pinched harder, giggling at the tears beading in her eyes. He liked her, she'd refuse to give in, refuse to cry, to beg, to do anything to leave.

The truth is, he doesn't know why these people are here. What they've done, who they've talked to, where they've been or what they've heard to land them in this. He doesn't know and he doesn't care.

The truth is, he isn't even a government trained assassin.

Sherlock had his arm stretched out as far as he could trying to reach his phone. He knew he could just slide along to get it, but his shirt making a squealing noise on this part of the floor was too great a risk.

His elbow was screaming in pain, his fingers repeatedly trying to catch the phone, looking like he was playing some type of air piano. His middle finger graces the edge, dancing almost. The phone rotates slightly, edging closer and closer into his reach.

Across from him John is holding his breath. So is every other hostage. They don't know what this strange cheekboned man will do, but he's the closest thing to a saviour they have.

Sherlock is so close to giving up, he'll never reach it and the floor will scream if he slides any closer. He peeps out of the corner of his eye at the people behind him, all looking at him with hesitation, desire, need, want. He doesn't care about them though, all he cares about it John.

John, who followed him.

John, who stuck by him.  
>John, who trusts him.<br>John who _needs_ him. Actually _needs_ him. Sherlock's never been _needed_ before, but now he can almost feel it coming off John in waves.

John needs Sherlock to succeed.

That's all the motivation that Sherlock needs, he returns to trying to grapple the phone. Desperation is tangible in the air.

Sherlock gets it and slowly sits up, sliding himself back to his earlier position beside John.

"I hope you know what you're doing Sherlock." John whispers into his ear. "But even if you don't I'm with you all the way. You're the best hope these people have got."

Sherlock smiles at these words. He loves how John is proud of him. But he can't dwell on that now. He types in his phone password opening his text messages. Quickly typing and sending a text to Mycroft.

_I know what this is about _– SH

He leans his head back, sighing loudly. He's still shaking from his miniature risky mission earlier. His phone tickles his hand.

_No, I don't think you do. I think you think you do Sherlock. But you don't. Stop messing in what isn't your business _– MH

_Not my business? John and I are stuck in a hostage situation. I think that qualifies as my business _– SH

_I can get John out. I can get you out. I can't extend the courtesy for your fellow hostages _– MH

_I don't care. So long as you get John out _– SH

_Sherlock, you have to promise not to meddle. This one is way over your head. It's nearly above my head. Don't go seeking answers _– MH

_Fine. I don't care. Just. Get. John. Out _– SH

_As you wish_ – MH

Sherlock feels a blinding pain, grogginess and then the world fades away leaving only echoes.

**I know this chapter was really brief but I wanted a cliff-hanger to give me some time to sort out some details. All will be revealed in chapter three!**


	3. Trust

**Thank you so much for waiting guys, thank you for subscribing and favouriting. After I'm finished this I probably won't be writing any Sherlock fanfics with cases, unless you guys change my mind, I'm sorry but I really don't like where this has gone and I feel like I really failed with it. Thanks again. The next chapter won't take as long, I'm writing it right now. **

Sherlock awakes in 221B, confused, groggy and totally, one hundred percent out of it. His eye sight is like a grimy window, streaky and blurring. Focusing and unfocusing itself.

"John." He moans quietly, before succumbing to sleep again "_John_…"

_He's running. He's running so fast, so fast. And it feels like his lungs are tearing themselves up, burning up, regenerating themselves like a Phoenix or something. Burning, burning into something new. His head is dancing, a beat smacking repetitively. And he **hurts** he hurts all over. He can't take the pain, he can't take it. But he has to keep running. He doesn't know why right now but all he knows is that he has to **keep running**. _

_He can hear it now, and endless screaming. It doesn't sound like one long continuous scream though, it sounds like a recording being rewound and being played again and again on an eternal loop until he goes insane. _

_He's surrounded by darkness, a soupy darkness that pushes in on him and constrains him, holding him in place. He feels so lost and alone. But he's got to **keep running**. _

_He sees some kind of light ahead of him, a burning pure white light. Now he realises why he had to run why he still has to run, why he heard the screaming. The screaming is John._

_John. John. John. John. John. John. John._

_He's racing now, so fast he doesn't even care about the pain but the repeated scream starts to crescendo and he reaches John and_

"Sherlock." _No, got to save John, no._

"Sherlock." _Can't stop running, the screaming, I need to save John._

"Sherlock."

Sherlock bolts up. His hair is dishevelled and there's sweat coursing down his spine. He can feel his heartbeat right next to his eye.

"John." He mumbles, covering his face and falling back on the pillows.

"I'm right here Sherlock." Sherlock slowly uncovers his face as if he doesn't believe that it could actually be John at the end of his bed. He's still half asleep as he murmurs

"John. John. I'm so…John I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have done it and I'm sorry and John please I'm sorry."

John laughs. He doesn't understand what Sherlock is on about his thoughts are barely coherent. He had come into the room after hearing Sherlock screaming in his sleep and moaning something about "save John" and "running" and "screaming".

John's laugh is what finally wakes Sherlock up.

"John, where are we? We're in 221B? I don't understand-"

"Shh. It's ok. Do you want me to start-"

"From…the supermarket…" John sighed. Sherlock could tell that this story wouldn't be easy for him.

"Sherlock. Promise me something." He sighed again. Sherlock narrowed his eyes for a minute, tracing the worry lines on his face, trying to gauge what was wrong. "Promise me that you won't go any further with this one."

"Any further? What do you… I don't underst…further?"

"Sherlock. You have to let this one go."

"Let it go? What do you mean-"

"I mean what I say. Let it go. Forget about it. Stop trying to analyse the what, wheres and hows."

"But John-"

"No buts Sherlock. Remember what Mycroft told you. You're in over you're head. Mycroft had to get permission from very high up to get us out of there, so please, just do this for him. For me. Don't go asking questions."

Sherlock harrumphed, not happy with this conclusion. He couldn't stop. His figuring puzzles out teasing them, manipulating them, working and concentrating on them wasn't something he could always control. It ran away with him jumping out of his reach, leaving him falling to the ground trying to grasp at air.

"Sherlock." John brought him out of his reverie. "Do you promise?"

Sherlock was conflicted. He really really didn't want to promise John because he knew he'd break it and that would break John and his heart. But if he didn't promise he wouldn't hear the story and he'd drive himself crazy.

"I promise." Sherlock smiled. John measured his face for a moment before returning the smile.

"Well as you know, we were held hostage in the supermarket."

"My fault." Sherlock moaned covering his face.

"What?" John said taken aback.

"It was my fault." Sherlock shuddered, taking his hands away from his face.

"Sherlock-"

"Don't try to comfort me John, it was my fault and you know it."

"No I don't Sherlock." John snapped, thumping the edge of the bed with his fist. Sherlock jumped and John breathed trying to regain his control. "When are you going to stop blaming yourself Sherlock? You don't drag me around like a puppet. I _decide _to go with you. I _choose_. Stop being ridiculous Sherlock. If I get in danger it's my own fault."

Sherlock was taken aback by this display. _He blames himself _Sherlock realised _he was the one who wanted to go shopping and he blames himself_.

"John." 

"Sherlock, I don't want to talk about whose fault it was at the moment. Please. Just…let's just get telling you what happened over and done with."

"Ok." Sherlock nods. The idea that John blames himself still bothers him to the core.  
>John exhales loudly. "In your own time John."<p>

"But rather quickly?" John smiles. Sherlock is confused until he remembers saying this to someone else.

"John I'd never-" 

"It's ok." John smiles "I understand."

"I was going to say. I'd never say that to you." John looks surprised and then beams.

"Thank you." he says. "Now, to get to business." he shifts himself slightly. "As you are aware we were taken hostage in the supermarket. As you probably guessed-"

"I never guess." 

"As you probably _deduced _that wasn't a standard hostage situation."

"Obviously."

"It was a British government mission."

"Clearly."

"Mycroft _generously _got us out of it-"

"About half an hour too late."

"Before," he coughs "before…it happened."

"It?" This word piques Sherlock's interest.

John clears his throat and swallows before continuing. "Sherlock, just remember..." Sherlock can feel a rising morbid feeling in his chest. "Just remember that we're ok now and that you can't change…" The feeling of dread washes over Sherlock like an ice cold bucket of water is slowly being tipped over him. "You can't change what happened in the past. It's done now and worrying about it won't-" his words stumble over each other. "Worrying about won't solve what happened." He finally manages to spit out. Sherlock nods. He has to know what happened but he also feels like he really, really doesn't want to.

John's breathing hitches. "As you know, that girl…the twin…Jennifer - she was…she got…she was killed and…she died." Sherlock nods again. "Well," John sighs "She wasn't the only one." Sherlock sucks in his breath.

"How many?" Sherlock looks John in the eye "How many died?"

John's face twists up and he has to look down before muttering: "All of them."

Sherlock sucks in his breath again. He doesn't understand why he feels so nauseated, dead bodies are part of the business, at first he thinks it's because he knows there's nothing he can do but he quickly dismisses the idea. He does plan to do something. A quiet voice in his head murmurs _maybe you feel shocked, because HE feels shocked and you don't like it. _Sherlock had to quickly file away that thought under 'Things to Look at Later'. He knew he'd be distracted otherwise.

He quickly switched back to deducing. He knew that something would happen to keep all of them quiet, and death is a permanent silencer, that had been shown with the first twin. Sherlock hadn't expected them to kill all the witnesses though. Just some, then bribe or coerce the others into silence. He returns his hands to their typical praying mode before John slaps them down.

"No." John says warningly. "You promised."

"But-"

"But nothing Sherlock. They're dead. Gone. Finished. You analysing it won't help that and it'll just annoying Mycroft, who, considering what he did today, we want to keep on the good side of."

"Alright." Sherlock relents. John pushes himself off of the bed and heading into the kitchen, trying to wipe tears from his eyes without Sherlock noticing, and failing.

"John." Sherlock says as John is leaving his room. "Thank you."

John pivots slightly, covering his surprise at Sherlock actually _thanking _someone. He smiles. "That's what friends are for." he replies.

_Friends_. The word reiterates around Sherlock's head bouncing around growing louder and quieter like it was shouted into a cave or off a mountain top. _He's never had a friend before._

Once again, Sherlock was torn.

_John was his friend. His best friend; his only friend. Betraying him could mean losing him. That was unacceptable. _

**Why? He'd managed without John before. He could manage again.**

_Once you've seen something truly amazing it is impossible to live without it. Sherlock had glowed before, yes, glowed more than ordinary people, but with John it was like an explosion. Sherlock worked better with John, was happier with John. John made Sherlock kinder, made Sherlock want to be kinder. In short, John kept him human._

**So what? Humans are boring.**

_Not always._

**He'd become soft_. _**

_No, just not someone on the path to self-combustion._

**At least self-combustion is dramatic. John's greatest excitement is clean jumper or a new episode of "Doctor Who".**

_And you know what? That was nice. Ordinary was nice. _

**He didn't even recognise himself any more**.

_Maybe, that was a good thing._

Sherlock tried to turn his back on the nagging voice in his head, but he wouldn't let him. He snuck up behind him, whispering temptations into his ear.

**He could always just…figure it out. Yes, figure it out and not tell John.**

_That's still betraying John. Even if he doesn't know, it's still hurting him, disregarding a promise. They'd broken a thousand promises but this one meant something._

**If he didn't work it out, it'd drive him insane. He knew it would. He wouldn't be able to sleep, or eat, or function. How did he think that would make John feel? Having to watch him crumble and know it's because of some stupid promise he made him.**

_He'd just delete it then. Put it in the recycle bin._

**They both knew that that wasn't an option. **

Sherlock slid down the bed onto his side facing the wall. He closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep, gave into the voice inside his head, and transported himself back into that supermarket.

Sherlock's hardly ever used this technique before, finding the amount of time he loses doing it too risky. It's something he learned when fairly young. He has an exact memory and so, edits the 'photos' his eyes took into a sort of stage. It's a bit like Google Earth, for lack of a better metaphor. He stitches all the details into a massive tapestry around him and re-enacts the crime. Effectively placing himself into the crime scene as it was when he was there.

He blinks several times the presses pause. The shooter is standing with his gun pointed out at Jennifer. The first twin to die. Sherlock stands up, looking each of the hostages in the face. They don't look surprised, merely scared. He deduces the crime they witnessed to end them up in here must have been something violent.

_What year though_. _If he just had a year of what they witnessed he could figure it out._

It must have been relatively soon, the twins were sixteen and if they were six or under at the incident they witnessed they wouldn't have bothered. If they'd even told anybody it would've been written off as a dream.

"Sherlock?"

So that put what they'd witnessed between this year and ten years or so ago. He needed to narrow it down. It must be something the government didn't want getting out, something bad that would impact the country.

"Sherlock?"

But what? An assassination by the government? Theft? Murder? Computer programming? It could be anything for a list of crimes.

"Sherlock? What are you doing?"

Sherlock is snapped out of his reveries to find John looking over him, confused.

"Sherlock? Are you ok? What were you doing?"

John knows he can't tell him, can't tell him he disobeyed him, the truth would break his heart.

"Nothing John, I was just…daydreaming."

John smiles, and it breaks Sherlock's heart. He knows he is hurting John and that breaks him up inside, but if he doesn't _solve _this mystery and solve it _soon_ he'll go insane. He knows he will. There's no ifs or buts, it's a statement.

"What were you thinking about?" John smiles. Sherlock can see that he has this crinkle on his left check. It's really…nice. Yes. Nice.

Sherlock sniffs. "Nothing important." He fakes a smile. It bothers him when John doesn't realise it's not sincere. He feels like he knows John so well, and John doesn't get him at all. Mind you, he smiles to himself, no one will ever get Sherlock Holmes. He's too complicated. Too broken.

John smiles again. "I'll leave you to it then." and he closes the door on his way out.

John is consumed with worry. He knows that something is up, yes, Sherlock is secretive, but why would he fake a smile like that? What was he covering? John considers it. He knows that Sherlock wouldn't betray him. He knows that Sherlock wouldn't figure out the problem if John make him promise told him not too. John trusts Sherlock. Will always trust Sherlock. He silences his thoughts. Whatever it is he knows that Sherlock knows best.


End file.
